Treasure Chest
Prologue: To King Atum, death was purely political. It was how he always thought of the world. You lived, made changes, made money, and then died. Death was disappointing. It meant you could no longer do anything. You were a useless corpse, maybe a useless corpse wrapped in linen and salt if you were lucky. He feared death. But not because it meant leaving behind the world that bowed down to him, or never getting to experience the beauty of the desert, or never see his blood be passed on and on, or learn how he was remembered. It meant his daughter would finally get to be queen. He saw the itching in her eyes. He saw just how much she was holding in and pushing down like she walked on hot coals, and the only way to rest her feet would be for them to touch the throne. The royal SandWing family, although considered screwed up (for lack of a better term) by many other dragons, was perfectly fine to Atum. He and his wife Natron were going to keep their status until they died. Their daughter would not challenge them. They would live to see the kingdom the way they wanted it, their own daughter kept in line. The plan couldn't last forever. And as his life drew to a close, so were his years of power. Of perfection. There had to be a way to keep the kingdom upright, keep things the way they were. If he could do nothing else after being six feet under, he could at least guarantee that the secrets lying within the palace would never be unearthed by foolish children. But luckily, the SandWings were far from the most corrupt tribe. Chapter One: "Miss?" The princess blinked her eyes, the maroon iris glazed over as she stared at her fiddling talons. Every step down the dank hall, voices echoing against the limestone, maze-like walls, she had to reset her armor, rearrange the poppy tucked behind her ear, and stop herself from hyperventilating. She had to look her best. She had to prove herself. They're just family. They love you- father always told you how much he loved you. '' "Miss? Your honor?" "Huh?" Lioness lifted up her head with a jolt, spinning around to see her scrawny servant crouched before her, an oversized torch in her left hand and a plate full of figs on the other. The servant smiled weakly, exasperation showing through her olive-like eyes. "Miss, I believe you should hold th-this plate of figs. It is proper for the princess herself to offer the food to her parents--" "I know what's proper." The princess swiped the plate clean from the servant maid's hand with a clatter as it rapped against her claws, a snarl crossing her face lit by the torch. The servant forced a smile and let Lioness take the lead, the clatter of her armor continuing as they headed along the dusty path. The light was dimming out as they went on, along with Lioness's hope. Every time, every visit scheduled to her parents, she was excited. Happy, even, anticipating the event. This was the time she would make amends. She would prove herself. They would love her, and she would love them. And every time she failed. She left dissatisfied, and so did they. The guards would smile at her, and she would smile at the kingdom, but every time made her more and more miserable. It was a cycle, one repeating over and over and over again. She might as well not even try- what good would it do? ''They'll die soon anyways, ''she thought, and immediately regretted it. Was she really becoming one of ''those ''princesses, scornful of their parents? Was she really wishing death upon her beloved mother and father? Just as she was scrambling to come up with a positive memory of them, she nearly rammed snout-first into a dusty chamber door at the end of the hall. As grand as her parents liked to be, their own quarters, or rather, their deathbeds, were in a surprisingly sorry state. It was only in a distant corner of the top floor of the palace, the maze like halls stopping dead at the dreaded door engrained in Lioness's memory. The room was private, unknown to anybody but the royals and the servants. That might explain the rigid, splintering doorframe, the lack of any art or plants in the sandstone halls, and the absence of any light as it buried far into the palace, but it didn't explain the metal box on the wall beside the door. The princess glanced up at it, just above her head, and saw a corner of paper poking above the lid. "Right through this door, your honor. You ought to be first," mumbled a servant, as if this was her first time. And like that, Lioness opened the door with a rusty key she hated, and was right in front of the king and queen. Her parents were sprawled on the floor, resting atop makeshift cots of worn blankets. Their gnarled, veiny talons were curled up in the colorful folds of the fabric they rested on, covered in flecks of dirt. Lioness held the plate out rigidly in front of her on a shaky hand, refusing to look down or stare, or dare drop the figs. Every visit, it seemed, they aged more and more, more grey flecks spattered their scales, more muscles wore away, more fat was sucked off, more wrinkles cornered their eyes. Queen Natron was the first to react. She drew up her long, creased neck, blinking at her daughter like she was some slave barging in and not the future queen. "Yes?" she murmured, not so much a question as it was a greeting. "Mother, father, your highness... I've come to speak with you." She settled on the hard wood floors, and she couldn't help but notice the splintering surface was charred slightly. A smoky scent enveloped the room, contrasting with the yellowed, sickly light let in between mildewy curtains. She guided the plate to the ground by her tail, and tried to focus all her energy in every movement, in every motion, in every ripple in the skin of the figs and the tiny flatter of the plate. The king and queen were close together, almost side-by-side as they lay on the floor, their talons folded over their chests, their heads now turned towards her, their tails dripping between the folds of the fabrics they rested on. Behind them was a relief of a dragon profile, carved not-so-delicately into the sandstone walls. The shapes were clunky and undefined, the corners chipping away. "You say that every time. What is it you took time out of your oh-so-special day for?" Atum tossed a brownish fig into his mouth, speaking as he chewed the seeds. As foreign and scary things had become with her parents, Lioness was somewhat glad they were still their old selves. "We've made it clear enough, princess. We like to keep to ourselves." Natron sniffed, and Lioness was reminded again that she was only ''somewhat grateful for the consistency in attitude. After all, her parents never really had a friendly attitude. Or a warm or loving or caring one. "Mother, I--" Lioness gingerly rested her own brightly colored, smooth talon on her mother's, which had a texture closer to the figs cupped in it. "It's only reasonable that I visit the king and queen, and the dragons who raised me. You still are running the kingdom." "Not for long. Eventually, it's all you. Why not wean yourself away from us before I'm dead?" Atum raised an eyebrow, as if he had just made an excellent point. A servant very engrossed in her dusting hushed him softly. "You're the one who never let me challenge you-- you're the one who decided to keep your power for life and keep me in line." Lioness flexed her talons. "Your life rule is almost up, father. I'm going to be queen and there's nothing you can change about it. You seem... upset about it." "Damn right I am. We both know I oversaw the golden years of this desert and you never cared to learn leadership. Trying to revoke that now isn't going to change much." Natron had this cutting way of speaking, but now all Lioness could do was sigh at her mother. ”There’s nothing you can do now. I’m sorry you don’t believe in me, but I am strong, and well liked, and I am going to be queen.“ Lioness traced her claws on the floor, replacing the sickly silence and grunts of her parents in her head with the roar of a crowd of her followers, cheering her on. She was well liked. She was charming. She was the young and fresh face of her kingdom, and she was going to succeed like her posters and statues and adoring fans said. So why was being here, in this grubby, most un-royal room, talking to the dragons she literally knew her entire life, so hard? Maybe it was the rotting smells, or the tired eyes of the servants, or the little indications of lives passed and gone, urns waiting, blankets to be caskets, but Lioness wanted to leave more than anything. Her parents seemed to want it as well, with the way they glared forward so intensely and yet there seemed to be nothing behind their eyes. The princess forced herself to stand up straight and tall, to be proper, to look young, to not fall victim to the slumping postures and drooping tails of the king and queen. Her arm stretched forward, sticking out stiffly, and for the first time since she visited a stronger beam of light pushed through a curtain and fell upon her wrist. The golden sundial, strapped to her scales like a nail in wood, cast its familiar shadow once again. “It’s late,” she muttered to herself, although her voice seemingly went nowhere. She gingerly touched the plate of figs again before pulling away her hand. The fruits were not so much a gift as they were mandatory, forced, instructed, and she knew the food carried no weight. Still, she nodded to a servant to leave them where they were, perhaps more of a spiteful reminder of her presence to her parents than anything else. I’m not spiteful, ''a voice in her head pointed out, but she was already standing up, turning her back to parents still looking at her. The light, stronger now as the day had gone on, outlined her golden shoulders and frame, although all she faced was the dark and dank halls. “Goodbye, mother. Goodbye, father,” she said plainly. There was not a word in response. Chapter 2: The fur passed between talons. One cream or gold or tan hand after another moved the lion head, dripping off a cloak of its own fur, towards the princess, until eventually, it landed into her own claws, and she was able to place it just so the jaws of the dead beast were between her horns, and the wiry fur slung around her shoulders. The lion fur had passed between many hands, many more than the few servants sending it along to its namesake so she would display it proudly, boldly, powerfully, as she stood before her subjects. Many hands, some that were now spotted with age and creased with wrinkles, some discolored and rotting after death, and some scarred and forever damaged of battle. But now, it rested along the horns and head of the icon of a tribe, the face of a kingdom, the representative of an entire race, a portion of which now stood before her. SandWings were known for their music, for the way they played and toyed with sound. Now, an applause of rattling sorts of instruments rang out into the long ears of the SandWings, as they stood, congregated, in the palace courtyard. The noise was quite literally music to Lionesses‘s ears. The princess walked to the edge of the stage triumphantly, her chest pushed forward and the golden fur of the lion billowing out over broad shoulders. The snout of the cat was nestled on the top of her head, as though she was in its deadly jaws. But when she wore the lion cloak, she felt more powerful than any other animal, as though she were not a princess of one tribe, but a queen of all. The sheer power and history accumulated in the panther’s long fur was enough. That said, the crowds of fans, the banners wielding her name, the real, live lions hung in decorative cages for this ceremony, and her name being spoken by the most famous dragons of her time, it all helped too. Most would address their kingdom from a golden throne, glass and fabric jewelry covering every inch of their perfect faces. Most would speak to only the finest dragons who paid a fortune to see their princess. Most would go on about status and wealth. But here Lioness was- she wasn't sitting on a throne, but rather standing. And not on palace floors- no, the way she greeted her dragons was on a wooden platform, suspended from one side of the palace walls, reached out over her subjects from the great height. The only thing between the underside of the platform and the people below were vertical wooden beams, between which banners declaring the power were strung. When she reached the end of the wooden platform, the extent of the audience now visible (aside from those underneath the platform, the closest to her and yet the only ones she couldn't see) she paused, waiting with a forced "determined look" as the roars of approval slowed to a stop, and the crowd waiting eagerly for her words. "Subjects," she called, her voice booming, pulsing through the empty and hot desert air with an echo as it pushed against the castle walls barricading the scene. "It is I, Princess Lioness, your young leader." It was how she always began her speeches, how she spoke in a familiar tongue of people. That was who she wanted to talk to, to lead, to cater for- the people. Dragons, from babies to adolescents to soldiers to parents to elders, rich dragons and poor dragons, but especially the poor. "We are gathered here today to remind ourselves of the power we all hold. The time of my reign is growing closer, my loyal subjects, and I wish to spread my messages of power and peace to all, so to all my messages are known." She cleared her throat. she was trying to look thoughtful, in the moment, speaking her mind rather than from notes she memorized (In reality the lion shawl was very, very dusty and coughing was inevitable). "Think of me not as a leader, but a friend. Throughout the times I help my people, throughout the ages, I rule this tribe, I want to not be an out of touch authority, but rather someone who knows her people, knows her subjects. I am afraid there are kings and queens before me who fell victims to the temptations of a royal life, and live on their own accord, far removed from the dragons they are in charge of. I will break this cycle. I will use my power for good, and to make dragons happy before my self." At some point between the inspirational lines, she felt as if she forgot exactly why she was delivering a speech. Was she not just reiterating everything she already spoke? Was it not so much of a political event, but more of a convention for herself, a celebration she said the things that made her popular at? Well, of course it was. After her few words, the partying would begin, and the event organized for her would continue until the last threads died out. She shook her head and continued. "But it's not just me who is the leader. All of you, every single member of this cultural, wonderful, powerful kingdom, is a leader in their own way. Teachers lead schools of dragonets, by giving them knowledge. Our generals rule our troops to defend ourselves. Our scientists rule our minds, by seeking and sharing knowledge. Our artists lead our culture forward, and our humble workers lead our kingdom to the great heights it has reached, keeping things moving every day. We all help, we all work to rule and lead and command this wonderful desert land." This was almost her tagline, her famous phrase of sorts. Banners and posters and statues engraved with her words said the same thing or another- "We are all leaders," was popular. It was because of this that her words earned applause, cheers and whistles and bursts of flames and shaking of instruments and fake lion roars, all for her. For a second she wanted to bask in it, to relish in the voices as they came. It was a truly patriotic sight-- flags of handwoven fabric flying high in the deep blue summer sky, the scent of earth and sun on the grainy winds, the roars of captive lions and the shake of rattlesnake tails ringing through the air. And before she was a vast plain of the tribe in its iconic colors- whitish cream, sandy beige, and golden brown. It was because of the sameness of the people, the unity, that the odd ones out stuck out just so much. Lioness didn’t really register them as she was speaking, watching them in her line of sight but her mind elsewhere. But when she was silent for a second, just a split second, habitually watching for the happy reactions and praise full faces of her subjects, she saw them with a jolt. A small cluster of black dragons were positioned at the back of the crowd. They were on a raised platform, not unlike hers, a wooden fence barring them off from the SandWings nearby. Their ebony shapes were small and not very strong, but they glittered tones of silver from jewelry. From the separate platform and the way they looked between each other between glances at her, she knew, somehow, they were important. Lioness knew little more than the average rich SandWing about real tribal affairs or dragons of significance, but she knew how to spot them from years of walking between her parents at fancy dinners and speeches and diplomatic parties. She knew that the ones in the special box away from the rest had something that her father or mother wanted and were meant to be pleased, she knew the ones who spoke amongst each other but watched the rest had something to find out. She could spot the class of dragons from the details of the jewelry, their jobs from their stance. And for her childhood, she was always taking it in, quietly on the sidelines, observing the little details but never allowed to see the complexity of the big picture. But now she saw the big picture. A very big picture, in fact, as wide as the courtyard she stood above. For the first time, she was the dragon with the eyes on her, not the dragon looking. Seeing the types ''she still knew as a mysterious, or powerful, or foreign presence, seeing her as a scrap of scales, at her event, her celebration, her meeting, it was unfair. She narrowed her eyes slightly, faltering in her words. She ran through the list of faces forever burned in her brain from those terrible, boring events, but the dragons were too far away, more like ants than a real, powerful person. She wouldn’t have known them anyways. but she did know they had charcoal black scales, sticking out in the sandstone and wooden background like a parrot in the IceWing palace. Only one tribe could have that color- the NightWings. The two tribes had a long and sordid history, based mainly on need. The NightWings needed building supplies to jumpstart the creation of their virgin kingdom, and the SandWings could deliver glass and sandstone. During the terrible SandWing Succession, the NightWings were able to give Princess Blister promises other tribes could not keep, promises that never truly died, that were still up in the air to this day. But most of all, the SandWings always had and likely always will have a need, an intense desire for the rarest of treasure. And some of the most sought after pieces could come from the NightWings- Dreamvisitors and Obsidian Mirrors enchanted with fantastic capabilities, Lazulite Dragonesses and pieces of Skyfire and the odd Eye of Onyx. The SandWings wanted what they could not get for themselves, and the NightWings were there every step of the way to offer deals and trades and objects slipped behind backs and whispers in ears and letters to be burned in the same breath they were written. At least the lion shawl was earnest, not outsourced from NightWings or any other tribe. No, lions were native to the desert and the desert alone, and such a beautiful fur was tended, harvested, cleaned, fluffed, cut, stitched, and passed on only by desert touched talons. Well, not entirely. She pulled her gaze from the NightWings, suddenly realizing she was still high on the podium, her wings spread out and stance still wide. She had stopped talking, rather abruptly. “So, with that in mind as this tribe enters more golden years,” the princess continued, lashing her tail impatiently, “let the celebrations begin!” This was it, this was the ending she wanted. Flames on torches set up for the occasion of her speech were suddenly lit with a whoosh and columns of scarlet fire were pulled in the air, bordering the courtyard, and blocking the NightWings. It was like the joyous moods of the subjects were turned on again and once more they were cheering, dancing, hugging, calling up at her with wide eyes, even more so than before, and she could once more bask in it all. She snapped open her billowing wide wings, roughed with sun and sand but still catching the wide, carrying her high up into the sky. For a moment, she was completely alone up in the air, a huge grin on her face as she soared above her tribe, the subjects gathered before her, some jumping into the air as well. A few guards flocked to her side, however, and escorted her down, down to the courtyard, and as organized, the dragons parted down the middle of the crowd in rippling ways, forming a path. Her feet touched the dusty floor with a thud, guards flanking her sides, and the festival began. Amidst the flat stretch of dragons over the wide plain of sandstone, there were guards, armed with spears and unquestioned orders to defend the princess. But they too were no longer stoic, blank, their minds seemingly empty, but having fun, twirling spears, lighting torches, dancing to the music. The walls surrounding the courtyard were no longer still and plain, empty, but now held out suspended cages full of roaring lions, great banners, and of course the SandWing flag. The cat-like golden sun against a deep blue sky was probably the only SandWing thing more iconic than Lioness herself- which said a lot for Lioness. Pyrrhian flags were a recent development, a fun identifier made in the years after the SandWing succession, but they were branded as a necessity, your tribe's culture something you couldn't live without like water or food. Perhaps it was, in some way. Perhaps being connected to your ancestors, to your leaders, to ethnicity and creed, it was important, at least to Lioness, who was a direct part of that culture. Royals were supposed to be neat and tidy, prim and proper, their lips pressed while they carefully ate, ears perked as they sat absolutely still. But here, in the throng of the party, someone slapped a wine glass into the very princesses’s hand and she gulped it down, splashes of the purple liquid rolling own her chin, she breathed fire into the sky just for fun, she leapt and flew and shook the talons of her supporters. Meat was speared onto talons and wolfed down like the animals dragons used to be, music boomed over shrieks of delight. It was one of the first of many parties Lioness had planned, but there seemed to be no planning in it, the movements effortless. The laughs came naturally, more so than pointed coughs to get royal attention ever would. The food tasted perfect, covered with sand and broiling in the sun, unlike any money or important documents would feel. The air was easy, the world was smooth. When you are royal, you are naturally surrounded by support. Attend any public event and dragons will shine your claws and out on your jewelry and bow to you. But within the royal family, negativity floated through the air like scum on the surface of soup. The air crackled with tension and long held worries fears, and for a royal child known for causing trouble, it was as if you were suffocated. Suffocated beneath layers of regret and fear, hatred and bigotry, stories lost to time and stories still beginning. Lioness was caught in it all. That was why she wanted parties with her subjects instead of dinner with her family. It was why her speeches were to dragons who looked like her, who wanted the same things as her, rather than diplomats bored out of their mind listening to dragons of a tribe foreign, completely different to them. It was why she was loose, happy, relived, relaxed, dancing and laughing and talking to dragons who she treated like friends, rather than cooped up and stuck in her own head. Somewhere between devouring ostrich meat and petting a lion, a real live lion, its fur still young and new, a young dragon pulled on her arm. She spun around, her mind jumping around, in all places at once, and glanced at a small dragoness, young, but barely a dragonet. "M-may I help you?" Lioness was flustered- her headress had come askew, sitting on her head more than framing it. She set down the skewer of meat clutched in her talons, her olive eyes even wider than the dragonet. "Um, hi." The SandWing blushed, her cool beige scales running with hot pink for a moment, the muscles on her softly curving jaw clenched. "I was, um... I'm one of your supporters, Your Majesty. I just wanted to say hello, and, uh, thank you." She glanced to the side. "I just finished school, and I want to thank you for the work you did in my portion of the desert. I'm the only one in my village able to fly over here, but we all want to thank you." "That's..." Lioness whipped her strong neck from side to side, checking the surroundings. A few bewildered, smiling eyes were landed on her, but others seemed to wrapped up in their own joyous conversations or laughs they didn't even notice her, let alone think of her as royalty. "That's so kind of you. Thank you." The dragoness nodded for a minute, her shoulders held tight up to her bunched wings. "Well, uh, I should be going back to the dragons I came with. it was-- it w-was nice to meet you, Your Majesty." The princess waved a leathery wing in response, although she had already ducked back into the crowd. The noise and roar of the crowd penetrated even the smallest of ears- the laughs and shouts, the cries and exclamations, the fires and crunches and gnaws of food, the slurps and growls and songs, it all carried on the swirling winds, congregating into a collective, familiar cheer. Touch, too, was everywhere. Dragons jumped into the sky and knocked wings, or jostled each other with accidentally twined tails. One would bleed into another, and the energy of the party united them all, the princess the central figure. It was because of this that she didn’t even notice, at first, when a talon rapped on the tail, just on the scales surrounding the venomous barb. But in the middle of dancing, it happened again. Lioness sounds around, slowly, the cheerful songs and gulps of beer lulling her, a hot smile still clinging to her face. Her vision had blurred slightly, as colors and shapes massed together, the feel and sound of things much more prominent. But when she saw the dragon calling her attention, it was like every sense sharpened, every relaxed muscle stiffened, everything became sharper, painfully clear. Standing behind her, a blank expression on his face, was a NightWing. *** ”Get out.” Lioness's voice quivered with a growl. She hadn't had to put on her tough, armored, roaring shield in a while. She was sure it had melted away between cakes and food. But here it was, with a familiar glimmer in her olive eyes and a slight quirk in her jaws. The usual buzz of the party was still there, swarming her ears, but the heat of packed dragon bodies was wearing off, and the shooting winds were every more noticeable. Despite the guards by the princess’s side, she felt all the more exposed. The shawl felt shriveled and old and sun dried, no longer glamorous. A painfully hot breeze stepped the golden furs shielding her horns back, and a sprinkle of sand sanded in her eyes. They were higher up on a tower, where the air was more malicious in its sweeps. They themselves looked out over the crowded, textured, rippling courtyard, but the walls on the tower’s top concealed the NightWings from view. "No. We're not going anywhere." The NightWing pushed his glasses up on his snout. They were cracked and old, wrapped around the beak-like covering over his nostrils. If he had glasses that went over his ears, perhaps the dirt and oil built under his horns would clear away. "I will have my guards lead you off these palace premises." Spit flew from her jaws as she leaned forward. The NightWing in front was taller than her, yet he seemed to have the calmest and reserved appearance. Lioness wanted to stab him right in his smug face that very instance but tried to channel her anger into her words instead. "We're not leaving." This was a different NightWing, just behind the first. She cocked her head, blinking rather mechanically only once. "Then fine. I will take it upon myself to personally escort you away. Come on, guards-" "Not so fast." The first NightWing glanced at one of the others for a moment, a slight quirk in the crease of his eyebrow. "We need to handle some royal matters." "And this is not the place to do it. I'm sorry, but you need to leave the palace- and kingdom- this second." One of the SandWing guards twitched uncomfortably and shifted closer to the princess as she spoke, using his snout to nudge his helmet over his eyes. "There's a lot going on that you don't understand-" "Well, that's too bad. You can't be here. This is a SandWing only event, and I do not appreciate whatever secrets you may hold being dragged up here. Go now." Lioness took a deep breath and grimaced. "Dragons have come all over the kingdom for this- you were not invited and are not entitled to appear at MY event." He opened his mouth to speak, but was silent. He looked her over with his dark copper eyes as if dissecting her and trying to pick out pieces of her, figure her out. Her cheeks burned pink. "I suppose we should introduce ourselves," the glassy eyed female finally said plainly. She stepped forward slowly on a slight limp. “My name is Ironforger. We’re here for some.... business.” ”I don’t care what your names are or whatever it is you’re trying to sell to me. My parents are not available- and neither am I.” Still, Lioness stood her ground and thrusted her head forward The male and female glanced at each other for a second, as if something went wrong, and the flicker in their pompous, self-righteous faces made Lioness smile for a second. The noises of the party were quieting down, however, and perhaps dragons were leaving, the one they came for seemingly gone. “Alright. We tried to say this gently but I guess that didn’t work.” This was a third dragon, their face cloaked by a dark fur veil. Silver colored metal armor plated their body, leaving only a few scraps of natural purple scales showing between the gaps. Lioness would have assumed they were another guard, their identity hidden, but when they spoke up, she noted the elegant feathers tucked over the mask on their eyes, the glitter of gold on their scales. This was another diplomat- their identity carefully hidden. A few more dragons, similarly hidden, lurked behind, more like shadows. Maybe in rocky slopes of their homeland, they would blend in, but they seemed plain silly in the sandstone walls and bright blue skies. “What?” Lioness stammered, unease creeping in again. Why were the cloaked dragons seemingly instructing the two in front? ”We're not here for your parents- we’re here for you.” Ironforger extended a veiny, creased talon. “Ironforger and Blackmail of the NightWings formally request a meeting with you, Princess Lioness of the SandWings.“ ”I-“ Lioness watched the subjects as they left the courtyard, escorted by guards in flocks flying into the air. Banners flapped in the wind, bits of meat were scattered on the ground. The party was over. The male NightWing, presumably Blackmail, waved a talon covered in strips of burlap towards the SandWings flanking the princess. It took her a minute to realize she was supposed to shake it. “When?” she finally demanded, pinching the bridge of her snout. “Two nights from now, when the moon is highest and just grazes the tops of the tallest mountains.” Blackmail rubbed his eyes behind his spectacles and turned away from the powerful golden glows of the sun, like he was some chittering bat in a cave. ”You know, you can just say midnight or twelve of clock. We actually keep time, in, like, real ways. You don’t have to, I don’t know, talk in terms of the moon and the stars above and all that crap.“ ”Watching the night is an important part of NightWing culture, young lady.” Ironforger dropped to her haunches and crossed her front arms. “And being reasonable and logical is part of us SandWings. Where is the meeting?” Blackmail sighed again. “We will send you a letter instructing where to go. If the letter fails to reach you, that’s on us.” The princess looked to her guards, but they were silent and had their heads tucked low under the helmets. She snorted a puff of smoke and asked, “How many guards should I bring? Is the space big? And who exactly will be there?” ”That’s the condition. No guards.” ”Haha. Funny. No.” She brushed her chest, conscious of its bare exposure to the hot air and the breast plate conspicuously missing. “I’m sorry, Lioness, but that’s the rule. This diplomatic meeting requires-” She cleared her throat and began to count on her claws, looking up as if remembering a memorized list. “This meeting requires absolutely no guards, servants, butlers, chefs, maids, personal assistants, scribes, show dragons, construction workers, and beautiful dragons sitting still like statues, even if they are deaf and/or blind.” ”Why- why the hell would I have the last one? Do you think I’m literally tugging around pretty RainWings on a leash and just having them sit behind me?” Lioness scoffed. “It‘s just part of policy. Trust me, there actually is a reason for that rule.” She chuckled. “Funny story.” ”I’m sorry- I cannot walk into a potential death trap free of guards. I will not consider your offer, and I am seriously considering ditching years of mandatory etiquette classes to tell you to scram.“ She stabbed a blistered talon to the south. “Go back to your kingdom right now.“ ‘What if we told you this meeting was scheduled by your parents?” Blackmail cut in, stepping forward with a smooth stride. “You serious?” No matter what her parents may think of her, no matter how much they may scoff from prepared deathbeds, they would not send their only daughter, their only child, their only heir, to be assassinated. They couldn’t. “Yes. You may ask them yourself.” Ironforger was the only one talking, but she dipped her head slightly to one of the cloaked diplomats behind her. She seemed to flinch and return her beady eyes to the SandWings, as though someone had stepped on her tail. “This is the only opportunity you will get for this proposal- we do not expect you to say anything other than ‘no.’ You may return to the feast at this point, if you wish.” Lioness rubbed her chin, realizing a stain of wine was still on it. No wonder they wouldn’t listen- she looked exactly how everybody else thought she looked. A spoiled, rebellious princess who wanted to be special and get shocked looks. And they would treat her as such until she said something stronger. ”Yes.” She sat down and pointed her poisonous barb to the ground, narrowing her gaze on Blackmail. “I accept this meeting.” And shook his hand. Chapter 3: It was funny. In many a courtroom or dragon meeting or debate or speech by some grand leader, children, dragonets, were always mentioned. The future generations, queens proclaimed. Helpless students and infants who leaders must seek to control, and help- although control was usually seen as helping. But if you were born into a royal family and lived like a princess for the short expanse of your life, you would know all too well that the children, real children, weren’t given another thought. Lioness had grown up rejected and neglected, her parents more concerned with affairs that, looking back, she wished she paid attention too while she still could. There was never really a defining moment that marked when Lioness stated, plain and clear, she was the leader of the SandWings now. She never stood on a stage and said the words she really wanted to say, the boldest thing she could think of: that she was queen. No, she would never get the satisfaction that princesses through the ages and creeds dreamed of. She always found the idea of a queen flawed, if she had to be honest. One ruler couldn't handle everything- and when everything was placed into her hands, she was bound to mess up if she was stupid, or do terrible things if she was smart. Lioness always knew this, or more so felt it, but it never burned stronger when she herself became a leader. Because as new, as different, as progressive as her speeches proclaimed her to be, people wanted tradition. Poor SandWings didn't want responsibility for their own community in a "democracy-" what they wanted was a headstrong leader who still looked after them with a caring touch. And the rich SandWings? They were happy with the way things were. The system that Lioness was born under always benefited them. Being a queen just meant continuing the cycle. And, well, it was awfully boring. "So... I presume we have a deal?" "What? Well, I... I ought to talk to my advisors..." Lioness blurted, leaning to the railing of the tower top. "Your mother's advisors, princess." The dragoness raised an eyebrow pierced with a greyish jewel. "They are responsible for all real estate decisions." "Well, yes, I should talk to the advisors, I suppose. But I must be honest, Kohl, there doesn't need to be a new palace-bound city. The royal parts of the kingdom are large enough as is- don't you think it's time we build some villages in poorer parts of the kingdom?" The SandWing just blinked her eyelids smeared with bold colored eye-makeup. She opened her politely smiling mouth to speak, but seemed to close it, thinking better of herself. "I'm... sorry, you're majesty. Do you- do you not understanding how building cities work?" Lioness cleared her throat, a smoky cloud accidentally forming. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice sharp and dry. "Princess Lioness, we simply cannot just build houses for whoever needs them. We build houses for people like us." "People like us?" Lioness straightened her shoulders, not hesitating. "So, rich dragons? The dragons rich enough with money for good villages only build for other rich dragons?" She looked around, as if there was a crowd before her, but it was just the two of them on the tower, each with an eye on the sunny slopes that would potentially hold more settlements. Faceless guards, with their metal helmets pulled low and seemingly no reaction to the conversation, sulked behind them. "Doesn't anybody see a problem with this system?" Lioness dragged her talons on the ground. "Nobody did, Princess, until you, seemingly JUST NOW." Kohl rolled her eyes, as if to show off the clay smeared on her scales even more. "This is how villages in the sand kingdom have worked for, well, as long as I've lived. Of course, I am, well, nicely young, but you've been under this kind of ruling your entire life, and you're only just now paying any mind to it?" Lioness bit her tongue, forcing her eyes to reveal only distaste, nothing more. "People can still learn, can't they?" she finally said. "Listen, your majesty. People like me work to build great villages we can live in. we work hard, standing out in the bright sun all day and under the cold moon all night, getting these places ready. Of course, there are lower-class workers, but they are happy with what they do, okay? I've seen it. It's simply unreasonable to build places of the same quality all over this HUGE desert." Category:Fanfictions Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete) Category:Genre (Adventure) Category:Content (Nibby the Bird) Category:Roleplay Stories